


been this way since sixteen

by ViolaWay



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Fluff and Smut, M/M, Prostitute!Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 16:42:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/788208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolaWay/pseuds/ViolaWay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t think it’s that!” Zayn protested. “I think he knows what his dad does to me, and he feels bad. I think he actually cares.”</p><p>“That’s great, Zayn. You can both run away together and get married in a fairy princess castle and live together for the rest of your lives,” Louis said sarcastically. “He’s loaded, I suppose?”</p><p>“It’s not about that!” Zayn replied, scandalized.</p><p>“Everything’s about that,” Louis responded bitterly. “You’re not gonna end up together forever, so get the family package. Sleep with them both and rake in the cash.”</p><p>“You say that like there’s morality to it,” Zayn said darkly.</p><p>“We have sex for money!” Louis laughed without humour. “Where’s the morality in that?”</p><p> </p><p>(In which Louis' given up hope and Harry wants an escape.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	been this way since sixteen

“Zayn, I fucking _told_ you! He’s a twat; you didn’t even need the money!” Niall complained loudly, dabbing at a large cut on Zayn’s lower lip. It looked like a ring had sliced through it—like someone had slapped him. Zayn rolled his eyes but winced, grimacing slightly.

Louis watched from the corner of the room with what could only be described as apathy. Personally, he’d had worse: broken ribs, gashes on his face and bruises the size of tennis balls. Zayn and Niall had no idea.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care that some sexually confused old monster had beat the shit out of his best friend, but it was all a part of the job. Louis knew that, and so did Zayn. Niall was new to the whole thing, though (had only been there a few weeks, bless him)—and he was so innocent and sweet that not even the dick-heads who paid them wanted to lay a hurtful finger on him.

Well. Niall _appeared_ innocent. The truth was, Niall just knew how to play them right. He was bisexual, working for the same price with both men and women (although, admittedly, the women were fewer and farther between), and he knew exactly how to get away without so much as a scratch. His hair was bleach blond and his eyes were wide and blue, but when they were alone…

“It’s fucking _sick_ , Zayn! Why the fuck do you keep going back?” Niall demanded, fiery passion in his crystal eyes.

Zayn averted his eyes and Louis leaned forwards in something resembling anticipation.

“You in love with him or some shit?” Niall muttered bitterly.

“No! He’s—he’s got a son. Not my usual type…”

“Not the type to pay for sex, you mean?” Louis interrupted scathingly.

“…but he’s cute. And nice. He gets really uncomfortable when I’m there, y’know…” Zayn trailed off.

“So the love of your life is disgusted by your job,” Niall summarised harshly.

“I don’t think it’s that!” Zayn protested. “I think he knows what his dad does to me, and he feels bad. I think he actually cares.”

“That’s great, Zayn. You can both run away together and get married in a fairy princess castle and live together for the rest of your lives,” Louis said sarcastically. “He’s loaded, I suppose?”

“It’s not about that!” Zayn replied, scandalised.

“Everything’s about that,” Louis responded bitterly. “You’re not gonna end up together forever, so get the family package. Sleep with them both and rake in the cash.”

“You say that like there’s morality to it,” Zayn said darkly.

“We have sex for money!” Louis laughed without humor. “Where’s the morality in that?”

“Louis…” Niall began hesitantly.

“Lou, calm down,” Zayn whispered.

Louis took a deep breath, unclenching his fists where they still hung at his sides. He knew that it was better for them: they had had slightly more of a choice in this life. But homophobic parents had thrown him out at the age of sixteen, and four years later the reality was just as bitter. Except it was worse now, because of how his job had escalated. And better, in some ways, because he had two great friends and a roof over his head. It all depended on how you looked at it. Louis had used to be optimistic, but he was struggling to see the bright side.

“I’m sorry, Zayn,” he breathed finally. He hated fighting with Zayn, not least because Zayn rarely fought back. He was peaceful—too peaceful—and it was soothing in the most heated of situations. Then there was the fact that Zayn was his best friend, had been there through every twist and turn of Louis’ insane life…that had happened in the three years they had known each other, of course. Louis shuddered when he thought of that year before Zayn, living on the streets. They’d only known Niall for a month, but he was a part of their little group, now, all living together in an old, battered apartment.

“That’s okay, mate. I know it’s tough on you,” Zayn replied, putting a comforting hand on Louis’ arm.

They’d had a fling, last year; it had lasted a month. They were better as friends; their personalities were different in a way that couldn’t work for romance, but made for a brilliant friendship. Louis had a vague thought of missing the sex, though. Zayn was just as experienced as he was, and far more gentle than their clients. And Louis reckoned he’d never find another person who’d take him. It wasn’t exactly hard to hear Zayn talk about his new crush—that wasn’t why Louis had gotten angry (although Niall was a different story)—but Louis was tired of kidding himself that he’d get out of this life, eventually. It was the kind of thing that stuck to your skin like hair: you can try to shave it off but it grows back, the same colour, the same texture. You can dye it, changing the colour, but still it grows back just the same. It’s never quite gone. Louis felt the same: it would never be over.

“Turn on some music, will you?” he asked Zayn, flicking his head towards the radio in the corner. It was rusty and old, like everything else in the place, and it took a few seconds for the battered antennae to pick up the signal.

“ _And they say, she’s in the class A team/Stuck in her daydream/Been this way since eighteen…”_

“Fantastic,” Louis grumbled. “And for me it was sixteen. Beat that, Sheeran.”

“Isn’t music meant to be escapism?” Zayn agreed, switching the station.

This one was playing an old Oasis song (‘ _where were you while we were getting high?_ ’), and Louis sighed in contentment. Music was calming to him (unless, of course, it reminded him of his own situation), and he hummed the familiar tune under his breath. His parents had liked Oasis, before they’d gone psycho and kicked him out onto the streets. Well, they probably still liked the band now: the two things weren’t mutually inclusive.

He sighed and flopped back into his chair, running a hand through his hair and closing his eyes. Sometimes he wondered what would have happened if he’d never existed at all. His parents would be happier, certainly. No gay kid bringing shame on the entire family. His sisters wouldn’t have had to experience the trauma of losing their older brother. Society would be better without people like him.

It wasn’t like he was about to commit suicide. He wasn’t especially depressed, but he felt like he was floating along with nothing to anchor him to the earth—nothing that really made him want to stay. Zayn—and now Niall, too—were his best friends, but he couldn’t imagine them missing him so much if he was gone.

He guessed he wasn’t really sure what he was here for.

***

Harry Styles was on the phone with his best friend when he got the idea. It was a Saturday morning, and his parents were busy downstairs entertaining guests, so he had been told to stay in his room until they left.

“So, Zayn was there and I completely freaked!” Liam was saying. “He’s lovely, and completely normal, really…but he has sex with my _dad_! It’s just…y’know. I can barely talk to the guy without stammering.”

“D’you fancy him, then?” Harry asked, already bored with the conversation. Liam had a tendency to overthink everything, and Harry already knew all about Zayn.

“What!? No!” Liam denied instantly.

“Methinks thou dost protest too much,” Harry said.

“Do you even know what half those words mean?” Liam challenged defensively.

“Heeeey! I passed English; I can understand bloody Shakespeare!”

“Barely.”

“So this guy, Zayn,” Harry said, deflecting the conversation back to Liam. “Is he hot?”

“I suppose, from an objective point of view…yes,” Liam admitted.

“And…from an objective point of view, of course: do you reckon he’s good?”

“At what?”

“Having sex, you dolt!”

“Oh. Well, I suppose so,” Liam replied hesitantly, doubt clouding his tone.

“How did your dad find him?” Harry asked, as casually as he could.

“Harry…”

“Liam,” Harry nearly growled. “How did he find him?”

“It’s…uh, it’s a company, I think. Weirdly organised, considering what it does, y’know? They, like, deliver them. Um. When my mum’s out with her friends, he just kind of _arrives._ ”

“What company, Li?” Harry inquired calmly, keeping his voice level.

“No, Harry. Don’t…”

“I’ll do what I want, Liam. Tell me,” Harry ordered quietly.

Harry was eighteen, but he still lived with his parents, in a ridiculously huge mansion near London. They were almost next door to Liam, leading to a strong friendship between the two boys. The money and the strict standards of his parents had taken their toll from an early age, and Harry had done everything in his power to be as rebellious as possible (without getting his inheritance taken away, of course). His parents had taken his laptop away when he was thirteen after they discovered him looking at porn, but the next day he’d stolen their credit card and bought a new one. By the time he was sixteen, he already had a reputation as the biggest cock-slut in their neighborhood, something which had led to screaming matches with his parents on more than one occasion.

The problem was this: he’d already slept with every upper class snob in London who’d have him. There was no one new, no one exciting.

He wasn’t a bad kid. Deep down, he was kind, sweet, and hopelessly immature—a side of his personality that only Liam had witnessed. But he wanted more of a life than his parents could offer—all stuffy dinner parties and glamorous tuxedos—and this felt like a perfect plan.

He wrote down the number that Liam had told him, smiling, and vowed to call this company the moment his parents next left the house.

***

“Louis, they need you out in greater London,” Niall said brightly, entering their room. “Have a nice fuck!”

Louis glared at him and pulled himself off the window-sill, where he had been sat gazing at the London skyline with a melancholy expression because apparently he was an angsty little shit now, buttoning up his white shirt and pulling his turquoise braces over his shoulders.

“Why me?” he asked sourly.

“It’s an eighteen-year-old rich kid. Hardly taxing. Sounds simple enough, right? You don’t even have to drive that far,” Zayn answered, following Niall into the room.

“They’re letting him take the car?” Niall asked, pouting.

“Wait, did you say eighteen? I’m not taking his virginity, am I?” Louis replied, panicked.

 

“Nope. Or at least, it didn’t sound like it. Very self-assured, that kid.  I believe his exact words were: ‘give me the fittest guy you’ve got’,” Zayn said.

“Aw, Zayniekins, and they didn’t send you?” Louis teased.

“Don’t get too arrogant,” Zayn warned him. “They’re sending you because firstly, you’re the best top we’ve got, and secondly, you’re one of the most experienced who isn’t addicted to drugs. Although I’ll admit that you’re pretty easy on the eyes, too.”

Louis grinned. “Love you, too, Zaynie! Don’t wait up!” He winked and sauntered out of the door.

***

A part of Harry couldn’t believe he was actually doing this. His parents were out to watch a theatre production at the West End (of course they hadn’t invited Harry—even though he would have loved to watch Wicked. He couldn’t tell them that, of course). He was alone, and he wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to do. What was the protocol with these sorts of things? He didn’t have a clue.

The doorbell rang, and he jumped up, eyes flitting nervously from side to side as if someone was watching.

Pulling the door open, he let out a sigh—half of relief, half of exasperation—and motioned for Liam to come in.

“I take it you’re here to stop me?” he said, closing the door behind them.

“Harry, you…wait, _you didn’t actually go through with it, did you?_ ”

“Um, I phoned them, if that’s what you mean…?”

“This is a huge mistake, Harry!” Liam said loudly.

“He’ll be here soon,” Harry replied.

“I don’t care! You’re not doing this!”

“Yes, I am,” Harry answered calmly. “Can you leave, please?”

“I can’t believe you,” Liam muttered tempestuously. “I get it—you hate your parents—but this is going too far!”

“And I know you hate _your_ dad,” Harry responded. “That’s why you’re here. Now leave me alone.”

***

Louis pulled into the driveway and nearly balked. This house was bigger than his entire apartment complex back in the centre of London, which was surrounded by filthy chip shops and shifty music stores (spoiler: they didn’t just sell music). This neighbourhood was nice; it was peaceful and quiet, with no sounds of children playing or cars driving by. It was almost eerily silent.

Louis didn’t like it, and he didn’t like being here. He would never fit in in places like this, where residents won awards for how well their gardens were kept and gossiped about how extensive their stamp collections were (okay, Louis had no idea what went on here).

He checked the number on the door, and sure enough: a shiny brass four stared back at him. Taking a deep breath, he put on his brightest smile and strode up to the door. Ringing the doorbell, he glanced nervously around him, checking to see that no one was looking.

Something clattered to the ground inside, and there was the sound of shoes against a wooden floor before the door swung open.

“Hello, I’m Liam. Sorry, I was just leaving. Excuse me.”

Liam was almost unbearably polite, and he stuttered ever so slightly, which was what made the link for Louis.

“Oh my God, are you _the_ Liam? Zayn’s Liam?” Louis asked. Zayn had finally revealed the name of his mystery man last night, and Louis couldn’t believe his luck. He was going to give Zayn so much shit for this…once he could find something wrong with Liam, that was. He had his ways.

“You know Zayn?” Liam squeaked.

“Of course I do, he’s my best friend! You have my blessing,” Louis said seriously. Liam went pale. “Sorry, you can go. It’s just nice to finally meet you, I suppose,” Louis smiled.

“Oh. It’s, uh, nice to meet you, too,” Liam murmured, averting his eyes and heading down the path.

Louis peered into the large hallway, spotting a boy who looked to be about eighteen lounging against the banister of a magnificent flight of marble stairs.

“And you must be…oh, crap, I never learnt your name. Well, hi! I’m Louis. And you are?” Louis always put on an air of false brightness around his customers. It was part of his charm, and why he was so successful.

“Hello,” the boy said, almost shyly, like he wasn’t quite sure what to say.  “I’m Harry, Harry Styles.”

“Nice to know, Harry Styles. I would tell you my last name, but there has to be some mystery, huh?” Louis grinned.

“Sure. Um, did you want any coffee?” Harry asked. Louis stared at him, blinking. In his four years of this job, no one had ever offered him so much as a drink.

“Y-yes,” he choked out eventually. “That’d be lovely. Actually, have you got any tea?”

“Fifty-two different kinds,” Harry replied.

“I didn’t even know there _were_ that many,” Louis muttered, following Harry through the hallway.

“Neither did I, until my parents decided that it was my destiny in life to be some kind of tea connoisseur.”

Louis chuckled at that, and Harry opened the door to a kitchen that, while beautiful, did not look appropriate for any kind of cooking. Louis couldn’t see an oven anywhere.

“There’s another kitchen downstairs,” Harry explained, pulling a tea bag out of a cupboard and turning on the kettle. “This one’s mostly for show. My mum wants to be the perfect housewife, but she can’t cook to save her life.”

“Who cooks, then?” Louis asked curiously.

“We actually, uh, we have…”

“You don’t have servants, do you?”

“No! Well, we have a cook. And a cleaner. But they don’t live here or anything!” Harry protested, blushing. Louis thought it was adorable.

The kettle finished boiling and Harry made Louis’ tea, but made nothing for himself. Louis arched an eyebrow.

“Aren’t you thirsty?” he queried.

“No, not really,” Harry replied. Louis noticed that his hand shook when he handed Louis his drink.

“This is your first time doing this, then?” Louis guessed. He was obviously correct, as Harry immediately ducked his head and coughed.

“Yes,” he said quietly, before hastily changing the subject. “So, how do you know Zayn?”

“Like I said, he’s my best friend. We live together with this guy called Niall. It’s a bit hard, ‘cos they’re both so much better looking than me. Get all the guys, both of them.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Harry said shyly, grinning flirtily all the same.

“I know: I’m gorgeous; I just wanted to hear you say it,” Louis winked. Talking to Harry was almost the same as talking to Niall or Zayn, except with more sexual tension.

Harry laughed, looking a little bewildered at the same time. Louis remembered that he was eighteen; no matter how confident he might seem at times, he was still a teenager.

“Oh, I’m supposed to ask you and all that, since I’m basically his wingman… Is Liam straight? Or does he swing both ways? Because Zayn reckons he has a girlfriend but he might be overthinking everything like usual, and it’s always good to check.”

“He has a girlfriend,” Harry replied. “Danielle. They broke up a few weeks ago—back together now, obviously—but it’s all been a little sour since.”

“So he’d go for someone like Zayn?” Louis asked.

“I didn’t say that. He’s never said he’s bi, or anything like that. Your friend might be out of luck there.”

“Well, I’ve got a theory,” Louis grinned. “I reckon there’s barely anyone straight enough to turn down Zayn. ‘Cos there’s this quote I heard when I was first figuring the whole sexuality thing out—Billie Joe Armstrong, I think—well, loads of people have said it, but I had this Green Day phase that you’ll never breathe a word about to anyone: he reckons we’re all born bisexual and then society turns us into who we are. I don’t think that’s true, really: there are some completely straight people, and some completely gay ones. But not as many as you’d think, right? There’s probably a girl out there somewhere who I’d be attracted to…maybe.”

“No offence, but you seem as gay as they come,” Harry responded.

“Hey! I sleep with girls, sometimes! I mean, I have to imagine a hot guy to get it up in those cases, but still!” Louis said, making Harry giggle again. “Anyway, what about you? You seem pretty queer yourself, if you don’t mind my saying.”

“I’ve been known to go with a girl once or twice,” Harry shrugged.

“Alright. So are you a top or bottom?”

“Well, it depends.”

“With me, you idiot.”

“Oh, right. Probably bottom, if that’s okay?” Harry said.

“You don’t have to ask; you’re paying me. But yeah, I prefer to top. Perfect match, aren’t we.”

“Sorry,” Harry apologised. 

“God, don’t say that. Kinks?”

“Um.”

“It’s okay if you don’t have any yet,” Louis began softly.

“No, no. It’s just, some of them are a little weird,” Harry muttered.

“Trust me, whatever you say, I’ll have had weirder. Some guy made me dress up in a school uniform. Girl’s school uniform, I should mention, and then he ‘caned’ me, and then I had to go and sit in time out for ten minutes. He was kind of a psycho. I didn’t come once that whole night. Meanwhile, he came five times. I felt kind of cheated, to be honest,” Louis told him.

“Really? Some of them don’t let you come?” Harry asked incredulously. Louis laughed at how naïve he was.

“Quite a lot, actually. I’m not worth it.”

“That’s terrible.”

“It’s my job, babe. Now, what are your freaky kinks? You don’t have a foot fetish, do you? Got a guy off with my foot once. I’m quite skilled at footjobs, actually, if that’s your thing.”

“I actually, I like dirty talk,” Harry admitted slowly.

“Should be easy enough,” Louis said. “I mean, it’s me you’re having sex with, here.”

“And…spanking. I like being spanked.”

“Basically, you want the full submissive package, then?” Louis summarised, aware that he was making it sound like a airline deal. That made it easier, sometimes. “I tell you what to do and you do it?” The thought had his cock stirring in his jeans. He always liked being in control.

“If that’s okay?” Harry ascertained.

“Yeah, it’s great. I’m guessing you want to get on with it, since I’m paid by the hour.”

“Actually, I’m using my parents’ credit card, and this is my way of getting back of them. So, stay as long as you want.”

“Ooh, rebellious. I like it,” Louis winked. “What time do they get back from wherever they’ve gone?”

“Like, midnight or something?”

Louis checked the clock in the corner. It was six pm, which gave him almost a whole six hours worth of money (and sex). This was turning out better than he had anticipated. It helped that Harry was _really_ easy on the eyes, and he just begged to be controlled. Well maybe he wasn’t begging quite yet, but Louis couldn’t wait to hear him do just that.

“Right. So, d’you want to go out to dinner first? I can treat you to McDonald’s, since you’re gonna end up paying me half of your parents’ fortune,” Louis offered.

“I haven’t been to McDonald’s in two years,” Harry said, almost wistfully. Louis wondered how someone could be wistful for McDonald’s, since he practically lived off it.

“So you wanna go, then?” Louis repeated.

“Sure.”

“I’ll drive, then. Come on.”

***

They ended up in a small McDonald’s in a slightly less wealthy area (the houses had peeling paint, so Louis felt more comfortable), with Harry giggling whilst slurping up chocolate milkshake. Louis shook his head at the childish antics, picking at his fries.

“You not hungry?” Harry asked, cocking his head to one side.

“Well, yeah, but…”

“But what? Go on, eat up! You’re paying!”

“It’s just that most people don’t really like how, well…how fat I am,” Louis admitted.

“That’s rubbish; you’re not fat!” Harry protested instantly.

“You’re cute. But it’s a part of the job, I’ve got to keep slim,” Louis explained.

“Well, just for me, eat everything you’ve got. And then get a brownie. If you want, I’ll pay for the brownie. I get to order you about since I’m paying, right? So eat,” Harry said.

“Actually, your parents are paying,” Louis corrected him. “And you won’t be in control later,” he added, smirking.

“Not getting out of it that easily. Eat.”

“God, are you sure you’re not a dominant one?” Louis complained, but he was smiling, and started nibbling his chips again.

“Good,” Harry smiled, and Louis thought it might be worth it just for that smile. When Harry smiled, his dimples carved themselves into his cheeks and seemed to brighten his face, and his eyes sparkled.

***

They got back to Harry’s house, and it was another story entirely.

As soon as they got through the door, Louis was attacking Harry’s lips with his own, and it was all Harry could do to fix his hands into Louis’ hair and let himself experience the pleasure that came with the wet taste of Louis’ mouth (which tasted like toothpaste—Harry had been wondering why Louis had gone to the bathroom at the end of their meal). He was pressed against the door with Louis’ hands firm on his hips, pressing his back into the cool wood.

“Do you like this?” Louis hissed into Harry’s jaw, sucking kisses along his neck and brushing his teeth against Harry’s ear. Harry nodded helplessly, whining in the back of his throat. “Answer me,” Louis demanded harshly, and Harry managed to whisper a soft ‘yes’.

He felt Louis sucking a large bruise at his pulse point, and felt a surge of contentment when he realised that his parents would be able to see the mark tomorrow, and everyone would know what he’d done.

“B-bedroom,” he gasped.

“You don’t get to choose,” Louis sing-songed, pulling back so Harry could see the glint in his eye, and Harry wondered if Louis was half as turned on by this as he was. It seemed impossible. But the bulge in Louis’ trousers matched his own, and the thought made him feel giddy with excitement and arousal. He was doing this to Louis. Louis, who could have had any guy if he’d wanted, but was here by Harry’s command, enjoying himself.

Before Harry could register what was going on, Louis was down on his knees, undoing the zip of Harry’s skinny jeans and pulling them down to his ankles. Harry felt his legs shake as the blast of cold air hit them.

“Going commando?” Louis smirked, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. Harry whimpered quietly without managing to answer. “Such a slut for me,” Louis continued, approvingly.

His tongue traced the slit at the head of Harry’s dick, and Harry’s hands flew into his hair, needing something to hold on to. Louis’ wet mouth enveloped the head of his cock, and his knees almost buckled at how skilled Louis’ tongue was. He closed his eyes—watching would be too much, and he didn’t want to come so soon—and listened to the sound of his own harsh breathing, and the wet sucking sound of Louis’ lips on him. It was almost more overwhelming than he could stand.

“ _Now_ we go to the bedroom,” Louis hummed around Harry’s cock before pulling off and jumping up, grabbing Harry’s hand. Harry stepped out of his jeans and followed Louis upstairs.

***

Harry’s bedroom was big. That was the first thing Louis had noticed, two hours ago. He’d drawn the heavy cream curtains across the huge windows and had pushed Harry onto the king-sized bed. The bed was plain, too; there was no colour in the room, and Louis had asked, an hour ago, why.

“I don’t want to get attached,” Harry had gasped. “I want to leave, and—oh, right there!—I don’t want anything here forcing me to stay.”

“If I lived somewhere like this, I’d stay forever,” Louis grunted, pushing bruises into Harry’s forearm with his fingers.

“It gets old after a while, trust me,” Harry assured him. “ _God,_ can you shut up and fuck me, please?”

“Your wish is my command.”

Harry had come three times already, and now he was over-stimulated and panting, sucking Louis off. It turned out that Harry got off just as much from, well, getting Louis off, and Louis was fine with that. His hips bucked up relentlessly, abusing Harry’s throat and taking encouragement from the noises Harry was making.

It was like nothing he’d ever experienced before. The thing was, it felt _equal._ Harry wasn’t demanding that he get everything and give nothing in return; Louis had come only once by his own choice. Harry was tired and wrecked, and Louis was enjoying watching him that way, just as much as Harry was enjoying the mix of sensations: the perfect combination of pleasure and pain.

“Get off,” Louis all but snarled, and he could hear the mewling noises from Harry that told him the younger boy was enjoying every harsh word.

“Okay, Daddy,” Harry replied, and Louis’ cock twitched almost violently.

“You’ve been a bad boy, Harry,” Louis said, and he could see Harry trembling in anticipation. He must have known what was coming next. “And bad boys get punished. Are you gonna be good for Daddy?”

He’d done this before, obviously—the daddy kink wasn’t as rare as you might think—but nothing had ever gotten to him as much as the sight of Harry stripped bare, trembling and biting his lower lip as he replied: “Yes, Daddy. I’ll be a good boy for you.”

“Get on your hands and knees,” Louis demanded roughly, arousal thick in his voice.

“O-okay.”

 

Harry got into position, and Louis stared at the milky white bum presented to him, with the hole already stretched red and raw from earlier. God, he’d never seen anything so hot. Raising his hand, he stroked along the skin, and Harry jumped a little, muscles tightening.

“Relax, baby,” Louis soothed him.

“Punish me, Daddy,” Harry whispered.

That was when Louis struck him: once, twice, three times in quick succession, seeing the skin start to turn red with satisfaction. Harry was making the most delicious keening noises Louis had ever heard, and his hand came down harder and harder until the skin was a bright, painful red. Men had done this to Louis countless times, although he’d never gotten much enjoyment out of it, but Harry was in a whole new level of ecstasy is the sounds he was making were anything to go by.

“Harder!”

“Shh, baby. Do you want me to hurt you?” Louis asked quietly.

“Yes, please, please hurt me, oh God,” Harry begged, and Louis slapped him harshly, over and over, stoking his own cock with his other hand at the sight of Harry in front of him. The pleasure was building in his abdomen, but with one last smack Harry was coming first with being touched, almost dry now and practically sobbing with the onslaught of pleasure.

It was a moment before Harry was able to do anything except breathe heavily, but once he came back to his senses…

“Did I make you proud, Daddy?” Harry asked, rolling over onto his stomach.

That was all it took to have Louis coming over his hand with a shout. Harry watched with hooded eyes, and while Louis lay there, coming down from his high, he scooted over and licked the mess off Louis’ palm, little kitten licks that had Louis wondering how this boy was even human.

“God, you’re gonna get me hard again, you twat. C’mon, get up, let me make you some tea,” Louis said. No matter how much Harry might like being spanked, Louis knew it was best to get some tea in his system.

“I just wanna sleep,” Harry grumbled, pushing his head into a cushion. He realised what it was covered in almost instantly, pushing it away with a loud: “Ew!”

Louis chuckled, sliding out of the bed and grabbing some tissues from the bedside cabinet, cleaning himself off before passing the box to Harry.

“Come on, let’s get cleaned up before your parents get back. D’you want tea or coffee? Or juice?” Louis said, pulling on his jeans and shirt again.

“Tea, please,” Harry answered, sitting up.

“Have a shower,” Louis replied, winking before leaving the room.

It should have been so easy to get Harry Styles out of his head.

***

“Here’s your tea,” Louis greeted Harry when he entered the kitchen, curls wet and sticking to his face.

“Thanks. Is this really a part of your job description?” Harry inquired.

“No, but you’re cute,” Louis said. “And you’re nice to me. Not many people are nice to me.”

“Why not? You’re still a person!” Harry replied indignantly.

“It’s different. You’re so polite ‘cos it’s how you’ve been brought up. ‘Please’, ‘thank you’…it’s like second nature to you. But for me, and the people who use me, it’s not that same. I’m disposable, and to them, I’m not human.”

“I’ve never…known anything like that. I’ve always lived here, and everything’s so sugar-coated and that. My parents are super religious, too.”

“You’ll be lucky if you never get to experience my world,” Louis promised darkly.

“No…I want to. I want to be able to just…understand. Because I don’t. I really don’t,” Harry admitted.

“We’ve still got two hours until your parents get back, right?” Louis responded cryptically. Harry sipped his drink and studied him before replying.

“Yeah. Yeah, two hours.”

“Come with me, then. Pack a bag and come live with us. I promise I won’t kill you or anything. I just. I don’t want you to do anything permanent. One of these days you’ll try to move out on your own, and it’ll be awful. This way, you can get a taste of my life without immersing yourself in it, okay? Just stay until it gets too much. And it will, trust me.”

It was one of those ideas that was probably terrible, but seemed like a brilliant solution in the spur of the moment. To both of them, apparently.

“That…sounds perfect,” Harry replied.

“Go on, then. Pack your fancy clothes and your toothbrush and stuff,” Louis urged him, mouth twitching into a smile.

He wasn’t sure when his smiles had become genuine. Harry just managed to make him feel happier—more relaxed—than he was usually.

He wasn’t sure when he’d started to truly like Harry, to be attracted to both the boy and his stupid, goofy, sexy personality. That wasn’t a part of his job, and it honestly had never happened before. Louis shifted guiltily from foot to foot, wondering whether he should retract his offer or not. But no. Harry was the kind of person he wanted to get to know, the kind of person he wanted to introduce to Niall and Zayn, and Josh and Stan (he hadn’t seen Stan in years, but he missed him like hell. He was the kind of guy who would’ve liked Harry and his magnetic personality immediately).

Louis ignored the fact that Harry was someone he could very easily fall in love with.

***

The drive to Louis’ apartment was less awkward than it might have been, considering their situation and all. Louis kept up a steady stream of utterly mindless chatter for the duration of the ride, and Harry entertained himself by studying Louis’ iPod’s collection of music with extreme distaste.

“Katy Perry? Are you serious?”

“CALIFORNIA GURLS, WE’RE UNFORGETTABLE!” Louis belted out instantly, grabbing his iPod out of Harry’s hands. It wasn’t a fancy touch-screen one, and it looked well-worn, but Harry loved it more than any of his expensive gadgets at home. Excluding the abysmal music it contained, of course. “Hey, I’ve got some good songs on here!” Louis continued, scrolling through songs.

“Keep your eyes on the road!”

“This stuff’s _good_!” Louis whined. “You have no taste in music, honestly.”

“Most of it’s illegally downloaded.”

“We can’t all have mega-rich parents,” Louis replied, a little bit of weariness seeping into his normally bright tone. Harry got the sense that this was how Louis normally was, when he wasn’t trying to impress a customer.

“How’d you afford the iPod, then?” Harry blurted out, before realizing how insensitive his words sounded.

“My mum bought it for me when I was still living in Doncaster. It was Christmas, six years ago. The last one I spent with family,” Louis shrugged.

“What…happened, exactly, with her?” Harry asked tentatively.

“Homophobic bitch,” Louis muttered mutinously, and that seemed to be the end of that. Louis had turned on an awful Lady GaGa song—or at least, Harry thought it was terrible—(“ _whoa, whoa, caught in a bad romance”_ ), and the man knew every word by heart, singing his heart out and basically ignoring Harry’s presence.

“You’re a really good singer,” Harry admitted, truly impressed. “Okay, now I’ve complimented you, can I please choose the song? You have the gayest music taste I’ve ever come across. I think you’ve got some Britney Spears on here.”

“Fine,” Louis sighed. “I’ve got one Lana Del Ray song, and the Marina and the Diamonds album; are they hipster enough for you? Oh, and that brief and absolutely non-continuing Green Day phase I had a while back, I think those songs are still on there. Although I didn’t take you as somebody who’d be into rock.” Harry thought it was adorable that, of all the bands Louis could be embarrassed about having on his iPod, he chose Green Day.

In the end, after pointing out the perils of Louis having Ellie Goulding, Take That and songs by Glee on his iPod, Harry settled on some Paramore, and Louis still knew all the words. Harry briefly wondered if he’d memorized each one of the five hundred songs he owned.

“THAT’S WHAT YOU GET WHEN YOU LET YOUR HEART WIN, WHOA…”

Harry was still giggling when they pulled up in a parking slot outside a grey, derelict building which resembled some sort of warehouse, but he fell silent when Louis started unbuckling his seatbelt and gestured for Harry to do the same.

“You live here?” Harry asked apprehensively.

“No! No, I borrowed the car and now I’m returning it. You didn’t think it was mine, did you? I couldn’t afford a car like this if I saved up for ten years. Really, how much do you think I earn?” Louis paused. “Don’t worry, it’s only a ten minute walk or so to my place from here.”

Louis left the keys in the driver’s seat and started walking away without a second glance, obviously expecting someone from the warehouse to notice the car before someone came and stole it (or maybe he was hoping that someone stole it, Harry didn’t know). He grabbed Harry’s hand and lightly tugged him along, and Harry looked around curiously. He actually didn’t make it into Central London very much, despite living less than half an hour away, but he’d thought he’d known it well. All of London was pretty grimy on standard, but this area took that to new extremes. There were only a few shops, with flickering neon signs and smashed windows (“they haven’t been able to fix it up since the London riots,” Louis explained), and Harry felt like he was dancing across the paving stones in order to avoid various foul smelling substances.

“We’re here!” Louis announced when they reached yet another unassuming brown building with only one window that Harry could see. “Home sweet home.” Harry didn’t miss the sarcasm in those words, but he chose to ignore it.

“Niall, Zayn baby, I’M HOME!” Louis yelled when they’d entered through the peeling black door.

“Fuck off!” came a muffled reply.

“Always lovely, my roommates,” Louis murmured to Harry, making the latter chuckle. “C’mon,” he added, taking Harry’s hand in his.

“So, you live…?”

“On the second floor. Count yourself lucky; we’re the only ones with a window.”

“If you wanted to, could you live somewhere…better?” Harry inquired quietly.

“If we went without eating for a while, maybe,” Louis shrugged. “I dunno. We’re supposed to live here since it’s near to work, and there’s not really any nicer places around this area.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Why, think of leaving already, curly?” Louis said jokingly, but his smile was melancholy.

“Nope,” Harry assured him quickly. “C’mon, I need to meet the mysterious Zayn!”

“Everyone just wants to meet Zayn,” Louis sighed dramatically.

They headed up two flights of stairs, and Louis unlocked the filthy white door with a rusty old key that had probably been used for decades previously.

“I have a guest, boys!” Louis said as he entered, pulling Harry behind him.

“Not the guy you fucked?” was an Irish accent’s incredulous reply.

“Oh, that’s Niall,” Louis said. “Charming as always.”

“Nice to meet you, Niall,” Harry muttered nervously, following Louis through the door. “I’m Harry.”

“I know who you are, wanker! How’d you even pull this one off, then?” Niall was a small, bubbly ball of energy with bright blond hair that showed his brown roots, and was wearing an alarmingly red polo shirt.

“Um,” Harry replied.

“ZAYN, SWEETIE, GET YOUR PRETTY ARSE DOWN HERE; IT’S LOVER BOY’S BEST FRIEND! HE’LL PROBABLY WANT TO SLEEP WITH YOU MORE THAN LIAM DOES!” Louis shouted.

“Isn’t he just in the next room?” Harry queried.

“Yeah, but he’s probably asleep,” Niall replied. “You always have to yell, ‘cos you never know.”

At that moment, a tall, black-haired man sauntered into the room, ruffling his hair with one hand so that it flopped into his hair. He quickly flashed Harry a smile, and the change was instant. His features became more kindly, and Harry felt more comfortable immediately.

“Hi, Harry. I’m Zayn.”

“Um, hi, Zayn.”

“So you’re Liam’s friend. Small world,” Zayn said.

“Yup. Dunno what he’s gonna do when he finds out I’m gone…” Harry sighed. “I should call him. Maybe we could meet up with him tomorrow and he could talk to Zayn?” he suggested.

“Wait, he doesn’t know you’re gone?” Zayn asked.

“Um, no one does,” Harry replied nervously.

“Louis, what did you do?” Zayn demanded, turning on his friend.

“I. Well, I kind of. Um,” Louis responded sheepishly. “I am helping someone achieve their lifelong dream of living in abject poverty!”

“YOU HELPED AN EIGHTEEN YEAR OLD KID RUN AWAY FROM HOME?!” Niall yelled, and Harry nodded while Louis replied: ‘yeah.’

“Louis!” Zayn said, seeming lost for words.

“You’re not running away to get married, are you?” Niall asked seriously.

“No!” Harry and Louis replied in unison.

“Okay. But that would’ve been really romantic, just so you know,” Niall lamented.

“I know it would’ve been really romantic, Nialler, except for the bit where it would’ve been a kidnapping,” Louis chuckled sympathetically.

“ _This_ is a kidnapping,” Zayn pointed out, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, stop being so responsible and lighten up. He’ll be gone within the week,” Louis assured him, and Harry felt his heart drop. None of them really wanted him to stay. He might as well pack up his bags and leave.

“Where’s he going to sleep?” Zayn demanded. “With Niall in the single?”

“No, you can share with Niall and me and Harry’ll take the single. Right, babe?” Louis winked, nudging Harry with his hip.

“No!” squeaked Niall.

“You don’t wanna share with Zayn?” Louis guessed. “I don’t blame you. He clings to you like a monkey and doesn’t let go until he wakes up, which is inevitably after noon. And then he drools, too.”

“I’ll share with Harry?” Niall offered. Harry could guess what was going on, but he didn’t want to make a big deal about it, so he strategically moved to sit next to Niall on the battered leather sofa and whispered in his ear while Zayn and Louis continued to argue.

“Does he not know you’re in love with him?” he whispered. Niall tensed instantly and turned to stare at him with wide eyes.

“How did you know?” Niall hissed.

“You’re looking at the same way I’m pretty sure I’m looking at Lou. You’ve just gotta grin and bear it, I s’pose. At least you’ve known Zayn for more than four hours.”

“Dude, that sucks,” Niall replied quietly. “But it’s really romantic.”

“Thanks.” Harry rolled his eyes.

“What are you two over there whispering about?” Louis smirked, looking over at them. “C’mon Zayn, _please_ let him stay? I’ll sleep on the sofa!”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’ll share with Zayn,” Niall said. “S’long as he doesn’t mind.”

“’Course not,” Zayn smiled warmly. “Right, it _is_ eleven pm, so I’m heading to bed. You can join me whenever, Niall.”

“Me, too,” Louis yawned. “Same goes for you, Haz.”

It was almost too convenient, but Harry didn’t question it. He turned to Niall immediately; they needed to talk.

“So you’ve been in love with him since when, exactly?” he asked.

“I’ve only known him for like a month,” Niall admitted shakily. “I’m not really sure, but I think it’s always been there. Not love at first sight or any of that dopey shit; but it’s kind of impossible not to be attracted to him, and he’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, once you get past the tough exterior.”

“Have you told anyone?”

“No! I don’t know why the fuck I’m telling you. I mean, we both like guys, but his thing with Louis didn’t work out, and he’s hesitant now, to start anything with me. Or he just doesn’t like me that way. God, it’s frustrating.”

“Thing with Louis?” Harry questioned.

“Yeah. It didn’t work out, and they’re still best friends, so don’t worry about it. But that’s just it, isn’t it? And besides, he’s in love with this fucking Liam guy. No offence.”

“None taken. But Liam’s a prude, and I’m like ninety-five per cent certain he’s straight,” Harry said.

“No one’s too straight for Zayn,” Niall whined.

“Liam’s got a girlfriend,” Harry challenged.

“Harry. Think about what Zayn does for a living, and then think about the moral issues he may have with adultery.”

“You have a point,” Harry admitted.

“Thank you. Now, what about you and Louis? I mean, at least you’ve actually fucked,” Niall smirked at Harry, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Yeah, but—no offence, Niall—that’s kind of his job!”

“No offence taken, mate. We’re not that sensitive, you know. But, Harry, Louis’ not exactly the happiest guy. We’re worried about him, but what can we do, really? He’s brilliant at covering it up, but not brilliant enough that me and Zayn can’t see through it. And with you tonight, he looked happy,” Niall said earnestly.

“I don’t know what to do,” Harry admitted shakily.

“That’s okay. Go to bed, now, we’ll figure it out in the morning.”

“Night, Niall. Thank you.”

***

Louis wasn’t asleep when Harry joined him in the little bed, curling up close and ghosting his lips over Louis’ neck. They were spooning, with Louis cocooned in the warmth of Harry’s body pressed behind him. He tried to sink into the feeling, tried to feel guiltless that he was using Harry because he wanted to feel again.

Harry made him feel.

It was something very close to love, Louis thought. It couldn’t quite be love, though, because Louis had walls. And those walls didn’t come down. They didn’t ever come down, even when he whispered secrets to Zayn in the dark. They were up for a reason, after all.

But Harry felt right against him; Harry’s heart felt right beating against his back. Harry’s breath felt right in his ear. Harry felt right in his heart.

“Hi,” he whispered.

“Why are you awake?” Harry giggled, wrapping his arms around Louis’ waist and pulling him closer, the sweet sound of his laughter infiltrating even the darkest corners of Louis’ mind.

“Because I don’t fall asleep within five minutes, idiot,” Louis chuckled quietly. “Stop kissing my neck.”

“I can’t help it,” Harry said, and Louis could feel his smile against his skin. It felt like joy. “Your neck is where my mouth happens to be.”

“If you’re gonna do that, you’re gonna have to follow through, too,” Louis challenged him, shifting his hips and wiggling his bum against Harry’s crotch.

“No fair!” Harry complained, sighing in pleasure.

“I don’t make the rules,” Louis shrugged nonchalantly.

“Of course you do; you just invented the game!”

“Okay, fine,” Louis said. “Kiss me?” His voice came out weaker than it was supposed to; it sounded like he was begging.

He turned his head and saw a droplet of water in the corner of Harry’s eye. Whether from the laughing, or from the awkward position on their sides…or from sadness, Louis wasn’t sure. But he kissed it away quickly, tasting the salt on his lips, before turning his body around to hook his ankles around Harry’s, pulling their bodies close. The action was barely sexual; it was the pure need to have Harry closer, to feel soft, chapped lips against his own without any intent or lust.

He needed it so much.

He pressed his head into the crook of Harry’s neck, sighing in contentment as he rested his body against Harry’s, eyes fluttering shut and deep breaths issuing from his mouth.

A few minutes later, groggy and incoherent, he mumbled “love you” into Harry’s collarbone before drifting into a peaceful, mind-numbing sleep.

***

“Lou,” Harry muttered sleepily, rolling over again. Louis was someone who managed to disrupt everyone and everything in his sleep, stealing the blanket and then clinging to Harry like a monkey, nearly falling off the bed even though he was the one next to the wall, managing to turn upside down and somehow managing to rub against Harry’s crotch with every move.

Harry had barely managed to get any sleep, and it was entirely Louis’ fault. Harry felt his respect for Zayn increase tenfold; having to deal with this every night sounded like hell.

Harry groaned and rolled over once more, pulling Louis to his side and encasing him in his arms, preventing him from moving any more. He pulled Louis close and sighed in contentment, closing his eyes and finally drifting to sleep, a smile on his lips.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

***

Louis woke up (at ten am, according to his old, unreliable watch) with a mouthful of Harry’s wild curls, tucked into his side like a small child, feeling tiny in comparison. He spluttered and pushed himself away—trying to prevent himself from choking on the fluffy brown hair—and scooted over to the wall, pulling his legs up to his chest and tucking his chin onto his knees.

It was creepy, but Louis smiled softly as he watched Harry sleep: with his curls spread haphazardly across the pillow, and little puffs of breath whistling past his full pink lips. Louis wanted to wake him up by kissing him, startling him into alertness.  He wanted to tousle the curls and sit on Harry’s knee, giggling like school-children. That was what he wanted.

He remained stationary.

“BREAKFAST!” Niall yelled, and Louis took that as his cue to escape from his simple desires, scrambling over the still-sleeping Harry and bounding into the kitchen, flashing Niall a wide grin as he noted the pans on the stove, and the boxes poking out of the bin.

“Morning, Niall!” he said brightly, inhaling the familiar warm scent of pancakes. Niall’s pancakes were best, even if they mostly just came from a packet. Maybe the secret was that Aunt Jemima’s pancakes were the best. (Niall insisted on buying his pancake batter from America, even though he’d never been the richest of fellows, and had only been able to afford to go to the US every five years. But, apparently, Niall went there specifically to hoard pancake mix.)

“Oh, good, at least one of you’s up,” Niall grumbled, letting the batter sizzle. (Of course, breakfast wasn’t actually ready yet, but Niall tended to call them in for it at least an hour early because it gave them time to wake up. Louis didn’t mind; he’d needed to escape from Harry and his stupid adorableness.) “Did you know that it is, quite literally, _impossible_ to wake Zayn up before midday? I mean, I tried. I really, honest to God, did. I shook the lazy bugger, I poured cold water on his pretty little face, and I tickled him half to death. Still nothin’.”

“That’s Zayn for you,” Louis agreed, reminiscing on all his disastrous attempts to disturb Zayn from his beauty sleep.

“How’s Harry, then?”

“He’s still asleep, too. If your yelling didn’t wake him, I don’t what will!” Louis teased lightly, ruffling Niall’s hair.

“Maybe the delicious smell of my pancakes?” Niall suggested, and Louis took it as an excuse to inhale deeply again, nodding his assent.

“Well, if neither of them wake up,” Louis reasoned, “then we get to eat all of them, right?”

“Too bad I’m awake, then,” came a gruff voice from behind them. Louis was not even slightly prepared for Harry’s morning voice.

“Morning, love,” he said lightly. “Good sleep?”

“Terrible,” Harry answered, rubbing his eyes. “You’re a monster.”

Niall laughed, pulling Louis in for a loose hug.

“Sorry, mate, but it’s true. You’re a fucking menace,” he supported Harry, and Louis glared at both of them in turn.

“I’d better get an extra pancake for that,” he said. “C’mon, Hazza, let’s go watch TV!”

“Uh, no offence Louis, but you don’t have a TV,” Harry pointed out.

“No, we have Zayn’s old laptop—his school provided him with it because he was doing some fancy media course—and we’re not past illegally downloading movies, too,” Louis explained, dragging Harry into the living room.

***

They were sat on the sofa with the laptop perched on their thighs—an excuse to sit closer and to have the screen in the centre, their legs brushing tantalisingly. Harry had a hard time focusing on the screen—they were watching ‘Sherlock’, and Harry had commented that Louis’ taste in TV was better than his taste him music. Louis had hit him with a cushion. But no, Harry was busier watching the angles and planes of Louis’ angular face: the sharp cheekbones (to be fair, Benedict Cumberbatch’s were probably sharper. But still, this was _Louis_ , and in Harry’s opinion, Louis won every time), the strong jawline, and the littering of stubble. Louis probably noticed, but he was too polite to point it out. Quite to the contrary, he pressed his fingers to Harry’s forearm, stroking up and down, nuzzling his face into Harry’s neck and quoting random lines.

 “…if anyone out there still cares—I’m not actually gay!” Louis said, with the exact same tone as John.

“Really? News to me!” Harry laughed. “And John is so gay. Him and Sherlock just need to get it on already.”

“Oh, totally. I don’t even know what this Irene bitch is doing here,” Louis agreed, hand trailing down to Harry’s hip distractingly.

“Lou…I know I’m not paying you…” Harry mumbled awkwardly, before he could gasp or do something equally embarrassing in response to Louis’ feather-light touches.

“Maybe later, Haz,” Louis promised, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I do actually like you, y’know. Time for breakfast!”

“How can you…?”

At that moment, Niall’s loud, boisterous voice rang out, informing that it was indeed breakfast. The word ‘know’ died on Harry’s lips.

Harry shut off the laptop and followed Louis into the kitchen, remembering slightly too late that he wasn’t particularly a fan of pancakes. Oops.

“Hey, Harry, do you want tea or coffee?” Louis asked, pouring water into the kettle.

“Um, either,” Harry replied, grabbing a plate from Niall. Breakfast at home was a formal event; his parents made them all sit down at the large oak table to discuss business and politics (which Harry found immensely boring). Here, though, he was handed a plate and there was no visible table, so he imitated Louis and hopped up onto the counter, sitting there with his legs swinging as they both waited for the kettle to boil.

“So, Haz, what do you wanna do today?” Louis inquired through a mouthful of syrup and sugar (Louis had somehow nicked a pancake out of the pan while Niall wasn’t looking).

“I’m not sure,” he admitted slowly.

“We can go down to the music shop on the corner, and…” Niall began.

“Niall!” Louis interrupted loudly. “We’re not taking him to a crack den!”

“They only do pot…” Niall protested, a little wistfully.

“This is why you got this job, Niall,” Louis countered tiredly. Turning to Harry, he elaborated: “Niall used to all right, but he was at university and his parents were paying for him, but he got involved in drugs and his parents didn’t want anything to do with him anymore.”

“Weed isn’t even bad for you!” Niall said.

“Okay, but cocaine was, Niall. Get over it,” Louis replied.

“I didn’t think…” Harry began, but was interrupted.

“That I was a crack-head?” Niall suggested. “No one does. But it happened. Shit happens. I still like to get high every once in a while, is that a crime?”

Harry had only ever taken a hit of marijuana once, when he was at a party for someone’s seventeenth birthday party. He was extremely blurry on the details, but it had ended with him getting kicked in the gut, and he’d steered clear of drugs ever since.

“I reckon…” he started hesitantly. “It’s your choice what you want to do, s’long as you’re not trying to pressure anyone else into doing it, or making terrible decisions that had bad repercussions for yourself or others.”

“Very wise, Hazza,” Louis said. “I’ve never tried the stuff, personally. Waste of precious money, innit. And pancakes taste better.”

“How would you know if you’ve never tried?” Harry teased lightly, prodding Louis’ thigh with his fork.

“Cheeky one, aren’t you! Okay, you know what? Zayn and Niall will go on a date for the day, and we’ll lounge around here. Sound like a plan? You can invite Liam, if you want?”

“Maybe later,” Harry said, grinning shyly.

“I don’t wanna go out with Zayn,” huffed Niall.

“Why on earth not?” Zayn yawned, padding into the kitchen wearing only boxers. Louis pressed his hands over Harry’s eyes.

“Careful, Zayn, he’s an innocent one!”

“Hey!” Harry protested, squirming out of Louis’ blindfold.

“Niall, why don’t you wanna go out with me?” Zayn said again, kissing the blond’s cheek. Harry squirmed again, this time in sympathy.

“I…uh…I just…” Niall stuttered, obviously rendered tongue-tied by the oblivious affection.

“He wants to meet Liam, doesn’t he!” Harry chipped in quickly, diverting the attention. Unfortunately, he didn’t account for Zayn’s reaction.

“Liam’s coming?” he replied, with the air of a child being offered their favourite toy.

“Um. Yes,” Harry answered hesitantly.

***

An hour later, they were all squashed onto the sofa, awaiting Liam’s arrival. The phone call had been awkward: it had consisted of Liam yelling at Harry for ten minutes, and the Niall had grabbed the phone and told him to calm the fuck down.

So now they were waiting.

The knock on the door startled them all even though they were poised in anticipation for it; they jumped collectively before Zayn sprang up to answer the door.

The door led straight into the living room (no fancy hallways), so Liam was instantly assaulted by the sight of Harry’s ‘kidnappers’, and Harry could see the panic flit across his face.

“Harry,” he begged instantly. “Come home.”

“Hi, Liam, nice to see you, too,” Harry replied sarcastically.

“I’m Louis!” Louis added.

“Niall,” Niall grunted.

“Um, you know me,” Zayn said sheepishly, shutting the door behind Liam.

“Harry, your parents are worried sick. They’ve opened up your bank account and they just think you’ve moved out: but they don’t know where you are, and you left everything behind! They don’t suspect a thing, though,” Liam ranted.

“I did move out,” Harry responded with no emotion.

“Then go back and get all your stuff, for God’s sake. You didn’t even take your credit card…”

“Wait, Harry has a _credit card_?” Louis interrupted in disbelief. “No way.”

“I’m _eighteen,_ Lou,” Harry explained.

“I’m twenty and I haven’t got one! Never buy what you can’t afford. Although I suppose you can afford everything.”

Harry ducked his head to hide his guilty blush, only speaking again when Louis pressed a soft kiss to his curls.

“I don’t want to go back, Liam,” he said evenly.

Meanwhile, Liam’s eyes had gone wide: they were flitting between Louis and Harry at a fast pace.

“Is that it?” he squeaked. “He told you he was in love with you so you ran off with him? He’s a stranger, Harry!”

“Hey!” Harry and Louis said in unison.

“We’re not together!” Louis assured Liam heatedly.

“Oh, so you’re not having sex?” Liam raised an eyebrow.

“Y-yeah, but—“ Harry stammered.

“But what, Harry? You probably think you love him…”

“I do not…” Harry protested weakly; there was no life behind it.

“Ever heard of friends with benefits?” Louis defended him quickly.

“You’re not even friends!”

“CAN EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP, PLEASE?” thundered Niall. “Okay. Good. Right, Harry is eighteen now, Liam. He makes his own decisions. We are by no means forcing him to stay here, and by the sounds of it he has more than enough money to leave and live somewhere else, but he doesn’t want to right now. I agree that he’s being immature by not going back to get his stuff, but fine! He makes his own judgments. His business with Louis is none of yours, so get your head out of your arse and stop pretending you’ve never been in love.”

Everyone stared at him—Liam with sheepishness, Louis with bemusement, Harry with gratefulness and Zayn with something resembling awe—and the silence stretched out until…

“Well, Haz. That sounded pretty permanent. If you’re moving out, I can help you look for a place? I know London pretty well,” Louis offered kindly.

“That’d be lovely. But…I had a different idea.”

***

It took a few months, of course. A lot happened over the course of those months, but the main thing was that five boys moved into a large apartment in Central London. One of them, the boy with the curly hair, was training to become an art consultant. His best friend was working at a retirement home, something he was teased mercilessly for. The raven-haired boy started singing on streets, but then got ‘discovered’ by a local club. He sang there on Wednesdays, Saturdays and Sundays. The blond got a shift there, with a comedy act that went down well on Mondays, Thursdays and Fridays.

And Louis, he became a writer. Not a successful one, mind you. He got published because Harry secretly bribed the publishing company. Not that he wasn’t good. His stories of dark, haunting themes enraptured anyone who read them. His stories of light-hearted love were good, too.

Zayn kissed Liam and it tasted like Danielle’s lipstick, so he stopped and showed that, yes, his morality was very much intact. Niall took Zayn to one of his music stores the following week and they came out acting very differently. Louis insisted it didn’t count, that they couldn’t be together if they couldn’t remember their first shag. Niall flipped him off and Zayn and him were unbearable for weeks.

***

“Lou, I need more pencils!”

“How the fuck do you keep losing them?” Niall asked from where he was perched on Zayn’s lap, running his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair.

“I’m an _art consultant,_ ” Harry explained impatiently.

“If you’re so impatient and holy, get ‘em yourself,” Louis suggested from the kitchen, where he was teaching Liam how to fake a moan (the sex with Danielle thing wasn’t going so great at that point in time). The sounds coming from the kitchen would have got Harry’s blood boiling if he and Louis weren’t in a mature, open relationship…ah, screw it, he was jealous as hell.

So he was settling for friends with benefits with the man he was in love with. That was okay, right. He got sex, and affection, and basically everything good about a relationship, and they lived together anyway.

But theoretically, they weren’t attached. Neither of them had had a boyfriend since the night they met, but in theory, Louis could come home one day with another guy on his arm, kissing him and calling him cute nicknames.

***

Louis wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. Like, ‘hey, I’m terrified of commitment and have endless trust issues, but please be my boyfriend because I’m a hundred and thirty per cent sure I’m in love with you?’ Yeah, sure, that worked.

They were basically a couple already, to be fair. Everyone said so. They went on coffee dates and had no problem with calling them dates. They went to the cinema, and fancy restaurants, and they had pet names and annoying PDA issues.

But still.

Louis wanted Harry to _say_ it. He wanted the possibility of a future, and maybe—just maybe—eternity.

So he had a plan.

Which mostly involved just fucking Harry into oblivion and hoping for the best. Louis was not well renowned for his plans.

“ _Louuuu_ …” Harry whined, bucking his hips.

“D’you love me, Haz?” Louis asked seriously, slowing the movements of his hand down marginally, staring into Harry’s glazed eyes.

“’Course I do,” Harry mumbled shakily, exhaling in a gust.

“No, Haz, do you _love_ me?” Louis asked, because he’d always been one for tact.

“Yes, Lou, I love you, I love you, I’m in love with you, now _can you please get on with it_?”

Louis thought his heart might explode. It wasn’t the most romantic of situations, but he wasn’t sure he cared all that most. In fact, he didn’t care at all, because it was so very _them._

“Harry?” Louis continued.

“Louis, I swear to God if you don’t made me come within the next minute…!”

“Harry, will you go out with me?”

“Oh my God. _Louis yes I will go out with you can you fuck me already I hate you so much you dick.”_

***

Another year passed, and they were almost unrecognisable from what they had been.

Liam was happy in his job: he became (even more) responsible and caring, but stopped lecturing the others so much when he realized they didn’t listen to a word he said. He broke up with Danielle, but it ended on good terms, and they remained friends. He ‘wanted to focus on his career’ (“What career? You serve food for old people,” Louis replied), and Zayn insisted that this development meant he was going to meet the girl of his dreams soon. (“My life in not an episode of How I Met Your Mother!” Liam protested.)

Zayn got a recording contract, and soon after, he proposed. The story of the engagement was made even better by Louis taking delight in Niall’s reaction (which all of them heard, because apparently the perfect time to ask your boyfriend to marry you was while you were sat with three of your other best friends, watching America’s Next Top Model). When Zayn got down on one knee, Niall squeaked: “Are you sure!? Are you fucking _sure_?” before Zayn could even get one syllable out. It would have been insulting, but Zayn hadn’t been one for commitment, and this was a big step. Niall stopped working (“because you’re a lazy housewife,” Louis teased. Niall did all the cleaning, though, so he didn’t complain much), and the wedding was quite a public event due to Zayn’s rocketing fame. (“Do you mind?” Zayn asked worriedly, upon realizing that fans would be present for the most intimate day of his life. “No worries. More people get to see me in my tux!” Niall replied, and Zayn wondered how he got so lucky.)

Louis proposed in the middle of Zayn and Harry’s wedding (that was okay, though, since no one saw; they were in the men’s bathroom after Harry had given Louis a rather spectacular blowjob. Louis had gotten down on his knees—as if to return the favour—and had taken out the ring. This proposal, everyone said, kind of represented their entire relationship.) Louis’ books were never massively successful, but he was content. He went to book signings in WH Smith, and talked to kids in schools about his story (only the year tens and up, mind you. Couldn’t expose the eleven-year-olds to that kind of thing.) Sometimes Harry came with him, and they would talk about acceptance, too—about what it was like to be in a relationship that others disapproved of. Louis liked to think that he’d changed some peoples’ lives.

Harry also quit his job (it had started reminding him too much of his parents—they were the ones who had taught him about art anyway), and he became a wedding planner. The idea came to him after he started planning his and Louis’ wedding, and although the new development in his career led to them postponing the wedding date, Louis couldn’t have been prouder (although he teased Harry about it in front of the other boys, because that was just what he did).

All in all, they were the best of the friends, and the most perfect of lovers. It hadn’t been a perfect start, but it would be a perfect ending, Louis was sure.

His story had a happily ever after, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from 'the a team' by ed sheeran. sort of.  
> if you want to find me on tumblr, i'm multifandomstylinson <3


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